


Merc Missions

by Mr_Salt



Category: Xenoblade Chronicles 2 (Video Game)
Genre: Can't believe nobody's thought of this, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:20:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25398301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mr_Salt/pseuds/Mr_Salt
Summary: A boy boards a ship and finds a girl waiting for him. He promises to take her to heaven. Along the way, he makes friends, enemies, and whatever Morag is to him on his way to the World Tree.That... is NOT what this is about.The Blades are not smart. They are not competent. But the party has entrusted them with important work, and it's their job to see it through.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	1. Fire, Part 1

When Rex had told Dagas about his job, he had dismissed it as an impossibility. A joke, perhaps, from the most loyal of his retainers, perhaps an attempt to cheer him up after yet another shop had refused them the 99% discount he specifically decreed for his court of Drivers, or an effort to inspire jealousy in the insufferable whelp in the bathtub.   
It was not a joke.  
Dagas trudged out of Garfont. His cape felt heavy, his axe dull; his crown, like a cheap imitation. How could he, a former king, be reduced to working with… that?  
He glanced at the imp. She was continuing to introduce herself to the ones with the arms, bubbling with excitement at making the acquaintance of another more mature fire Blade. Her horns spewed sparks like a faulty machine, no doubt the one inside her skull.  
He attempted to lift his own spirits a bit. Surely, he reasoned, surely during the job, this Crossette girl would recognize his incredible power and preeminence. She would bow to the king of Blades, Dagas, as long as he gave her the opportunity. He reflected on his past experiences; simply expecting such a simpleton to know her place was a waste of his time. Not that there was anything wrong with it; it merely meant he would have to lower himself to their level. And perhaps there was something in this whole deal for Dagas? After all, it had been forever since they bought him a new painting to hang in his warehouse.

Crossette was over the moon.  
Miss Newt was SO COOL! She knew everything about everything! Everything about her, her sword, her kindness, her control over fire ether… It almost lived up to Pyra! And her outfit, as far as Crossette was concerned, was definitely better than Pyra’s. Not to mention the giant pair of floating arms that carried the giant sword AND all their supplies!  
Mr. Perdido was, of course, out-of-the-park awesome as well. She had never met a Blade with 4 different weapons before (the closest she’d gotten was crusty old Brighid and Dromarch, who had 2 each that weren’t even different). The mysterious air about him… his cool one-word replies to her questions… she was FOR SURE going to have to ask him to teach her some tricks. Maybe he’d handled a ball like hers before?  
The only problem was the weird statue-looking guy following them. He was a Blade, Crossette knew that, but he was so creepy in his ways. His outfit was a dumb-looking mishmash of suits and robes and nonsense, and his socks didn’t even match. But the worst part was how he kept looking at her, like she was some kind of bug that he had to squash.  
She tugged on Newt’s sleeve, being careful not to disturb the fabric too much and accidentally disrobe her. “Hey, Miss Newt? Who’s that?” She indicated their tail.  
Newt snickered. “Oh, that’s Dagas. He’s always like that. You’ll get used to it. And-” they topped a hill, and Newt’s eyes widened- “look! There’s our ride!”  
Not entirely reassured by that, Crossette followed her gaze across the Gromrice paddies to the Titan ship. It was huge, with veiny greenish-black wings that looked vaguely nightmarish.  
“Come on, Crossette! We gotta get going!” Newt broke into a trot, giving Crossette a mental image she would not remove from her head for days. She looked around- Perdido and Dagas had begun to get a move on as well. She smirked and activated her foot rockets. That creeper wouldn’t beat her.

The Ardainian Birlinn light transport, Aspidde class. Like the Goldmouth trading port, this ship was not integrated onto or into the Titan; instead, it hung from a rare Titan species with a specialized gas bladder to propel itself while lighter than air at tremendous speeds. While the gas is internally synthesized from air and water ether, making it an essentially self-sustaining vehicle, the nature of it makes it extremely volatile when exposed to fire ether.  
Newt knew all these things. So why in the Architect’s name didn’t she tell Crossette? Titan’s foot, she was such an idiot! Of course the new recruit kid wouldn’t realize that she looked like an Urayan incendiary bomb!   
She lay on her bunk, nursing the headache that arose from a 45-minute session of negotiations sprinkled with threats and fire of her scabbard into the air. She always felt best on a Titan craft; she felt the warm humming of ether through the circuits, organic or otherwise, and in that moment she had peace.   
Perdido lifted his head out of his bunk, across from hers in the first sleeping compartment. “Are you sure it’s safe for us to actually ride this? You said before that fire ether interferes with the ship’s gas bladder.”  
“Yeah, the interior’s reinforced. It would screw with a whole bunch of Ardainian weapons if-”  
“So we aren’t going to explode in our sleep?”  
Newt sighed. “We aren’t going to explode in our sleep.”  
“Good.” Perdido turned over and pulled up his sheets. “Sleep well. Do not die.”

The ship stopped moving at its regular pace. Perdido was awake in milliseconds.  
He brought forth his katana. A stealthy weapon would do the job fine here. He stood silently and stalked out of the bunk room. He listened intently. An invader in… the kitchen.  
His steps were silent, his every twitch calculated. He was grace, he was death. He drew his sword, and his words rang out in the empty kitchen. “Come no closer. State your purpose or hasten your end.”  
The ether in the blade illuminated a terrified man with an Ardainian helmet perched haphazardly on the top of his head. He held a single Dolphin Carrot with a bite taken out of it.  
“I’m off duty,” he croaked.  
If Perdido was a lesser man, he might have flinched, blushed, perhaps even apologized. But Perdido was the ultimate warrior and the height of martial skill. He had no time for such things. He dismissed his katana, and as the ether molecules evaporated into thin air, he crept back to his bunk, leaving the man to his midnight snack. The satisfying crunch of a ripe Dolphin Carrot followed him out of the room. If Perdido had a mouth, he could really go for one of those.

He awoke again moments before the sun dared to show its face, not to be outdone by some flaming gasbag in the sky. As light flooded over the world, Perdido surveyed his target. A Titan resembling a lizard moved blithely through the Cloud Sea, its legs splayed to its sides.  
“Spessia,” the officer to his left said. “Pretty much nobody lives here; there’s a nice little mining colony, a salvage plant, and that’s it. It’s most famous for what happened during the Aegis War, so the Praetorium tends to try and keep people away.”  
“What happened during the Aegis War?”  
“Major battle. S’posed to be Gargoyles here, but there’s word- I never told you this, got it?”  
“Never told me what?”  
“That’s the idea. Some say there was a refugee camp here from a Titan the Praetorium sunk, and the battle was a cover for hunting them down. Of course, they don’t want anyone investigating, so those woods-” he pointed to a spot- “are off limits. That’s where you come in.”

“WHAAAT?”  
Newt turned to shush Crossette, and looked back to the officer. “Understood. Any info on this ‘invader’, or are we in the dark here?”  
“All we know is that it’s big, and sharp. It had to make its own entrance into the house where the incident happened, and what it left… wasn’t pretty.” Crossette flinched, sparks spraying from her horns. “The Empire’s been able to find its trail as far as a certain bit of the woods. We left markers up to that. We aren’t going any deeper on a manned mission, too much risk to personnel. Instead, you lot are going to take care of it, in exchange for some handsome pay for your Drivers.” He eyed Dagas. “Although if they’re buying all that for the shiny one, they must be pretty well off already, eh?”  
“Excuse you,” Dagas growled. “I’m independently wealthy.”  
“SHUT IT.” Newt turned again back to the officer and saluted sharply. “Understood, sir. We’ll take care of the issue in no time flat.”  
He chuckled. “I like that attitude. Best of luck, Blades.”

“If you could stop burning small life and start helping to find the path, Dagas, that would be constructive.”  
He snarled in rage, holding his head between his hands, and fired another beam of fire ether from his axe, incinerating a small shrub. “Did I say you could speak? Cease this drivel! I am being constructive!”  
With a wild swing of the axe, nearly missing Perdido’s back-left arm, he gouged a hole in an old Puzzletree. Flames licked the wound, and soon nothing remained but the burning stump.  
“The disrespect for my station… it is truly beyond me how so many fail to recognize me as their superior! Did you hear how he addressed me?”  
“Yes, he called you the shiny one. I offer my deepest sympathies. Everyone, don’t you feel bad for Dagas?” Newt looked at the other two, no doubt expecting the appropriate response. Dagas basked in the glow of sympathy for less than a second before he saw the imp with her mouth closed and brows crossed, clearly not able to think of anything to say to him.  
He had reached his limit.  
“KAISER FLARE!” he roared, and flames erupted in every direction. Leaves crumpled like parchment, silt became glass, rock was scorched blacker than Crossette’s soul. Vines twisted in agony and died before his eyes, revealing beyond the green curtain…  
An Ardainian standard-issue infantry bandanna tied to an upright stick.  
Dagas straightened, grinning. “I meant to do that. That constructive thing. I knew it was there.”  
“How?” Crossette asked, glaring at him.  
“By being the king.” He patted her on the head, eliciting a look that he would have decapitated anyone else for giving him but that looked strangely satisfying on his nemesis. “You wouldn’t get it. Now, onward, my entourage. The odious beast awaits us.”  
As he continued, not paying attention to the glowering Crossette, he pondered his choice of words. Not using “retainers” was acceptable- he had reserved that for his fine Drivers- but “entourage”? Maybe a break was good- that bathtub girl was beginning to rub off on him.


	2. Water, Part 1

Gorg had accepted that being a Blade was his crummy lot in life, way back when his life… wasn’t this.  
Whatever garbage Driver had pushed Gorg so far past his generous limit that it had violently ended that relationship, or whatever amazing Driver made him curse the limits of his memory’s continuity, he had resolved that his job was to throw an axe to whoever picked up his Core Crystal, hold his hands in front of his face, and go with the flow. He never, ever complained about his station; it would only bring him the Driver’s abuse, if he was unlucky.  
But Zeke was different. He understood Gorg. They trusted one another. And with the help of the Prince’s generous donation and unending support, he had finally achieved his dream and opened up in Fonsa Myma.  
Yes, Zeke and Gorg were true friends. Nothing could stand between them.  
...unless, evidently, it lived in a bathtub.

“That useless idiot lesbian!”  
Gorg held his face in his hands, evidently on the verge of a meltdown. Aegaeon sat next to him with an arm comfortingly (he hoped; he didn’t get out all that much) around his broad shoulders.  
He looked up pleadingly at the other two Blades. “She has no interest in helping the Prince at all. Ten to one, she’d sabotage this transport and send us back home if she weren’t too sheltered to figure out how. She has three interests: money, harassing the king guy, and building her damn harem!” He slammed a fist onto the table. “All the Prince does nowadays is clean up after her skirt chasing! Do you know she tried to hit on the Aegis?”  
Praxis snorted. “Tea party, yeah, and I’m an Aligo’s aunt. If that was all she wanted, Zeke wouldn’t put her in a separate room-”  
“Well, anyway,” Aegaeon loudly interjected, “My concern is simply that she’s going to endanger the mission. This is an important diplomatic function for Mor Ardain. The endangerment of attendees is simply out of the question. I trust you two as fellow Blades, by honor bound. Sheba will cause no problem that we cannot surmount.”  
Praxis narrowed her eyes. “A diplomatic function? Like, one with noblewomen at it? Attractive ones with lots of money?”  
Aegaeon gasped.  
“Hadn’t thought of that, had you?” said Praxis.  
Aegaeon stood. “I must go,” he said stiffly. “I promised to help with dinner.”  
Aegaeon was the Scepter of the Empire. He was the treasure of four dynasties, and had been prized across each for his skill. He did not miss his mark. And he may not have known how to keep a lesbian mermaid Blade away from an entire gender at a major social function where they were supposed to be keeping an eye on the guests, but on that night, those potatoes knew his wrath, like a million years of cloud-waves battering against their skins.  


Sheba lounged in her bathtub, bubbling with glee. The event she was about to attend was, in terms of entourage potential, unlike almost any other she had encountered. Where was that axe-flailing charlatan now? Scouting in some grubby forest, for a monster that some low-born ore miners probably made up. But Sheba was making her first steps away from the commoners that controlled her and into high society!  
The trouble would be Gorg and Aegaeon. So entitled, thinking they were above her when a condition as simple as their irritating, stubborn maleness slotted them firmly below her. They would undoubtedly be jealous of Sheba and try to keep her from life’s simple pleasures. Well, she would have NONE of it! The thought of wasting her time at this once-in-a-lifetime event incensed her so much that she went digging into her luggage and produced a special tea, one with lavender and Choice Cherry skin she had been saving for a moment of high stress. Spotting the Nopon deckhand passing by her cabin, she blocked him with a spray of water.  
“You! Grimy round one!” She smiled sweetly. “I grant you the privilege of preparing my tea.”  
The Nopon frowned. “Fish lady stuck-up. Must not get out much if think anyone think it privilege to prepare her tea when have important job to do.” He paused a moment, scratching his chin with his wing. “Except old man Elesmil from Torigoth. His Blade very weird and particular about that. But then he die, shipyard close, and Blade belong to someone else now, so Tatoro not care anymore.” He shrugged. “Anyway, fish lady lucky that Driver paid extra for passage, otherwise she be swimming in Cloud Sea for ‘grimy roundpon’ by now. Have night.” He waddled down the passage.  
Men. Unbelievable. On the upside, though, Sheba had subconsciously boiled the water in the kettle herself. “It’d be funny to throw it on Gorg, right?” she asked the figure of water in her tub as she walked over to the stove with her tea bag. It nodded vigorously.

Praxis paced the hallway. The bubbles on her head bobbed as she walked (a feature she had never quite understood but had grown somewhat fond of). Her Core Crystal glowed a lurid blue, much lighter than her natural water ether. It ached, but Praxis welcomed the pain. It was a beacon. Now if only it would-  
A blade of cold cut into Praxis’ mind. The pain tried so hard to drown Praxis out. By the Architect, Waldemar… he was so full of hatred. But there was nothing Praxis wouldn’t bear for that single moment of clarity that mercifully came:  
P- Praxis?  
Softly, Praxis smiled.  
Theory.  
I can’t take it anymore. He’s gone off the edge.  
I have a suggestion.  
Clearly, this surprised Theory. She was silent for a few seconds before responding:  
What do you mean? To get him killed?  
The people I work for now are good. They’re trying to save the world from these horrible people, and reach Elysium. You’d be safe with them.  
But he’s paranoid. He keeps me locked in a different room, and he killed the rest of the gang. I…  
Her voice was small.  
…guess you wouldn’t remember them, though.  
I’ll be at the Bureau of Foreign Affairs in Alba Cavanich. Could you get Waldemar there? There’ll be strong Blades, strong enough to kill him easily.  
He’s raving mad. If I tell him it’s a stash of rare Core Crystals, he’ll explain away the crowd to himself and bust in to take it all. It’s a pl-  
“OI! WHAT’RE YOU DOING IN THERE, SO QUIET?”  
I have to go. I’m sorry, Praxis. Soon-  
“Cryin’, maybe, for your bitch sister? The BLOODY TRAITOR!”  
And just as soon as it began, the link severed itself. Her mind seemed to thaw as her Core Crystal returned to its natural deep blue.  
A tear ran down Praxis’ cheek.  
I’m coming for you, Theory.  
Soon, we’ll be together. Soon.

Gorg had doubtlessly seen Alba Cavanich grow up across his many lifetimes, but he never got tired of it. The bustling markets, the awe-inspiring scenery, the proud spirit of the Ardainian people!  
But most of all, the DESSERTS.  
However, this time, he had no time for steam-gel ice cream. He had two jobs: Terror prevention, and Sheba-related damage control. A stilted but inspiring speech from Aegaeon as they exited the transport craft had returned his fortitude; there would be a nice party, and Sheba would not interfere. And if she did, the Prince had better thank his lucky stars that he and Sheba weren’t joined like Rex and the Aegis girls.  
She was floating along sullenly, with Gorg in front of her and Praxis behind. Aegaeon, as the resident Ardainian, headed the procession, which was itself tailed by a platoon of Ardainian soldiers. They reached the building and split off, with Aegaeon listing off roles.  
“The soldiers will be responsible for the safety of the guests internally. Praxis and I will be keeping watch over the guests from a position in the venue. Gorg, you’ve got the guest list?”  
He held it up. “Good. You’ll be at the front entrance. And Sheba.” He smiled in a grimacing way, not unlike, Gorg thought, that one time when he accidentally stood in the path of a blast from Herald’s thunder weapon. “Thanks to your unique skill set, you’re best suited to what we call external reconnaissance.”  
“Oooh! Sounds delightful! What do I do? Fashion consultation? Admission fee collection?”  
Her smile chilled as she watched Aegaeon’s arm extend upward. She followed the gesture to the roof of a nearby building.  
“You stand there, and watch the entire building to make sure nobody enters unauthorized.”  
It was as if Sheba died on the spot. Her watery bathtub instantly dematerialized, apparently requiring a bit of focus to keep active, unceremoniously dumping her onto the ground in a puddle. The watery being that usually sat with her held a hand to its forehead melodramatically before swooning and disappearing. She sat on the ground, looking bewildered, gaping like a drowning fish.  
“I- but- the entourage- NO! This isn’t right!”  
“I’m sorry, Sheba,” Aegaeon said coolly, “but you’re the only one able to use a ranged weapon among us all. It only makes sense.”  
Sheba’s mouth moved, but sounds failed to emerge.  
“If that’s all settled, then. Praxis, let me show you where you’ll be on patrol.”


End file.
